I’ve never been comfortable basing our rights on a ‘we
can’t help it’ rationale. It suggests that we’re somehow
pitiful things, that non-exclusively heterosexual sexual
orientation is a defect instead of every other point on
the infinite-points line that is normal human sexual
orientation.

It also begs the denial of rights to those who do
exercise any level of control over their attractions
(the stuff of sexual orientation at the combined sexual,
affectional, and emotional levels) if such a thing is
possible or to make conditional of those rights the
exercising of abstinence or other-directional control of
behavior related to those attractions.

Rights are rights. They are not meant to be conditional
on accidents of birth or behavior one wouldn’t expect of
others. They are meant to just be, as we are meant to
just be.

I’m always suspicious when someone even wants to know
why we’re other than exclusively heterosexual without
wanting to equally understand why people are exclusively
heterosexual. I mean, when was the last time you heard
such a balanced inquiry outside of a university sexology
department anyway?

Worse, this
be-nice-to-the-queers-because-they-can’t-help-it strategy
sends a message of brokenness to our people when we
should be instilling pride and strength in who we are.

The Kinsey researchers, as if they were precursors to
The Matrix’s Morpheus, used to ask a question of their
gay-identified subjects, “If you could take a pill that
would make you not homosexual, would you?” Most in those
dark days near the dawn of our fight answered that they
would.

How often today do we hear the question, “Who in their
right mind would choose to be gay?” Can you imagine
anyone asking who in their right mind would choose to be
black or Jewish or any number of other non-majority
members of protected classes just because they’re
oppressed?

‘Neo’-queer that I am, I would not take that pill. I
prefer to live an authentic life, unplugged from the
matrix of het convention, demanding in body, soul, word,
and deed to be exactly the queer I am blessed to be.

If truth be known, I’m a gay supremacist, firm in the
knowledge that we’re better than hets in many ways that
matter to me (and were proven superior by researchers
acting on behalf of the US Army, no less, trying to
figure out if they could more easily tell who the queers
were so they could more efficiently keep us out of the
service).

Even if I wasn’t a queer supremacist and despite having
suffered loss of family, jobs, and other opportunities,
as well as having been subjected to anti-gay violence,
including rape, due to my sexual orientation – enough of
the standard reasons given for why people in their right
minds wouldn’t choose to be queer to count and then some
– I’d still choose to be a lesbian and it doesn’t define
me as crazy.

How else, after all, would I have the spousal love of my
wife that grows fuller and deeper with every day of our
lives? Where would I find such a delightful subculture
so rich with beauty and humor and the sort of strength
forged in adversity that so fits my soul?

I love our freedom to define ourselves as we see fit and
the creative diversity with which we’ve done so. If I
were exclusively heterosexual, I’d be denied the depth
of intimacy that comes from sharing love with someone
whose body and mind responds so like mine and would be
relegated to the state of never really fully grasping
what the object of my affection really felt (that
same feeling of always reaching, never quite there, no matter how hard
they try, that hets suffer).

They may say "vive l’difference." Although I’ll admit to
feeling compassion for their loss, I say, "horsepucky! vive l’homogeneite!"

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t support any sort of
anti-het oppression. After all, some or all of them
might not be able to help it.

The word “queer” has a complex history. With a literal
meaning of “unusual, strange, or odd,” people used queer
as a pejorative towards members of the LGBTQ community
in the late 19th century. It was specifically used for
men who acted effeminate. However, starting in the
1980s, members of the LGBTQ community began reclaiming
the word. Today, the word “queer” no longer has a
hateful connotation. For that, you can thank the LGBTQ
community. Queer is a powerful word, and here are 6
reasons you should use it more.

"Queer" communicates inclusivity - The word “queer” is
inclusive for all members of the LGBTQ community. As the
LGBTQ community grows to recognize all genders and
sexualities, a word to reflect the community’s diverse
membership is desperately needed. The most inclusive
acronym currently in use is LGBTQQIAAP (Lesbian, Gay,
Bisexual, Transsexual, Queer, Questioning, Intersex,
Asexual, Allies, and Pansexual), but that still leaves
out many genders and sexualities (and is ridiculously
long).

"Queer" is the un-label-y-ist of labels - Labels can be
harmful, especially for those of us who don’t feel as
though we neatly fit into any label. Having the word
“queer” as an umbrella term for all sexualities and
genders helps to solve the problem. It also accurately
describes sexuality as fluid, which it is for many
people.

There is power in reclaiming "Queer" - There is great
power in taking a word that once was hurtful and making
it our own. It’s a feat of the LGBTQ community, and one
in which we should take great pride.

"Queer" is
necessary for those questioning - Some of us knew we
were part of the LGBTQ community from a very early age.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the case for all of us. Having
a term that, for lack of better words, keeps our options
open as we question and discover our genders and sexual
identities can be liberating. It allows us to explore
without feeling confined.

"Queer" breaks down binaries - The belief in sexual and
gender binaries is one of the biggest and most harmful
fallacies for members of the LGBTQ community. It
perpetuates biphobia, panphobia and queerphobia. Having
an inclusive term that’s non-binary helps dispel
misconceptions about gender and sexuality. It can be a
powerful tool in combating LGBTQ phobias.

"Queer" unites the LGBTQ community - Despite being one
community, there are still hostility and misconceptions
between subgroups of the LGBTQ community. While we
should celebrate our differences in gender and
sexuality, we must remember that we are still part of a
larger community. The word “queer”unites us.

The mythical unicorn is a
legendary creature that has been described since
antiquity as a beast with a single large, pointed,
spiraling horn projecting from its forehead. It has
sometimes been used as a symbol in the LGBTQ community.
Some of the attributes associated with unicorns resonate
with LGBTQ people.

The unicorn was mentioned
in ancient Greek, Hindu, and Hebrew literature during
the Bronze Age. It was part of European folklore during
the Middle Ages and Renaissance. In Chinese tradition
the Unicorn is an auspicious and perfect spiritual beast
which appears when sages are born.

The legend of the unicorn
combines male and female in one beast and therefore rich
in the symbolism of opposites. It represents the balance
of the yin and yang.
Psychologist Vivian Diller says, "The
unicorn can be a sweet, innocent pony, but it also has a
phallic horn protruding from its head. It’s a symbol of
freedom to be male and female. In other words, it’s an
iconic example of the possibility to be whoever you want
to be, separate from any limiting binaries."

Unicorns have long been a
representation of the moon, embodying the mysterious,
intuitive, and magical. Often considered the most
wondrous of all mythical creatures, the unicorn is a
symbol of miracles and enchantment. It appears to only a
rare few and has the ability to bestow wisdom upon those
who are pure of heart and virtuous in their deeds.

The unicorn is described
as unattainable and perfect. As a metaphor, a unicorn
is that irresistible girl or boy that you can't catch.
Being someone's unicorn means you are someone's fantasy.

According to Kristen
Iversen of Nylon, "Unicorns have a complicated
mythological significance when it comes to queer
culture, having represented everything from virgins to
outsiders to Christ himself. But it is the unicorn’s
resolute status as a wild being constantly under threat
of capture, torture, and death, which is most
significant to the queer community."

I support
marriage equality. For many years, I felt like being a
pro-same sex marriage Republican would land me in a
12-step program. Unlike Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton
and so many other Americans, I didn't evolve on the
issue. I don't remember a time in my life when I thought
gay people were entitled to fewer rights than I was. I
don't think same-sex marriage is a threat to the
institution. On the contrary, the more, the marrier (pun
intended).

I never saw a conflict between conservative values of
less government intrusion and personal freedom and
supporting marriage equality. There is no freedom more
personal than deciding who to commit your life to.
Government shouldn't mandate whom we choose to love.

As state after state legalized same-sex marriage, many
of my gay friends legally wed. My home state, Florida,
was one of the last states in a series of states that
legalized same-sex marriage and only after a protracted
court battle. Many Floridians, including men and women I
love dearly, traveled to other states so they could make
their unions legal. I saw how much it meant to them to
be able to say, "my husband" or "my wife."

They felt their love was legitimized. Their
relationships were equal. These are not people who want
to chip away at the tradition of marriage. They want to
participate in it and make it stronger. My gay friends
were the reason I was a signatory on the two Republican
amicus briefs that were filed with the Supreme Court in
support of same-sex marriage.

From a personal point of view, my heart was filled with
joy and celebration at last week's Supreme Court
decision making same-sex marriage legal in all 50
states. From a political point of view, I find myself
hoping that this fight is over and we can move on.

Some of these people are also my friends and relatives.
My 74-year-old Nicaraguan Catholic father cannot get
himself to accept same-sex marriage. God knows, I've
tried.

I know my dad. It is not in his nature to discriminate
against anybody -- well, maybe with the exception of
communists. My dad cannot get his arms around the idea
of two men walking down the aisle. His views are shaped
by his culture and guided by his religion. On social
issues, he'll side with The Vatican over me.

There are people on both sides of this issue who I
respect and love. It is time for everyone to remember
that tolerance is a two-way street. We must be
respectful of people's rights -- that includes the right
to marry who you choose, and also the right to practice
the religion that you choose. These two rights can
co-exist.

We are a pragmatic nation. We can and must find a
solution to the conflict. There can't be that many
bakers, caterers and florists in America who don't like
to make money. The wedding industry is a multibillion
dollar business. Most wedding vendors will be happy to
charge same-sex couples for their services. The few that
don't are refusing the business based on religious
objections.

I get the "it's the principle of the thing" argument. On
the other hand, who wants to pay for and eat a cake
baked by someone who thinks you are committing a sin?
Thank you, I'll pass.

In a country as big, diverse and democratic as ours, we
can come up with narrowly crafted exemptions for cottage
industries and small vendors whose religious beliefs do
not allow them to participate in a same-sex wedding.

Before we embark on countless legal challenges and the
elderly evangelical baker making cakes out of her garage
in Arkansas gets dragged into court, isn't it worth
trying to find a little sliver of common ground? I know
I sound naive.

Our society is so politicized and polarized, reaching
agreement can be hard to imagine. I urge both sides of
this issue to take a deep breath and reflect on how we
can live and respect each other's freedoms, rights and
beliefs.

I just saw
a transphobic post that was like, "In a sexual species,
females have two X chromosomes and males have an X and a
Y chromosome. I'm not a bigot. It's just science."

Well, I am
a science teacher, so I posted the following comment.

First of
all, in a sexual species, females can be XX and males
can be X, as in insects. Females can be ZW and
males can be ZZ, as in birds. And females can be
females because they developed in a warm environment and
males can be males because they developed in a cool
environment, as in reptiles. Females can be females
because they lost a penis in a sword fighting contest,
as in some flatworms. Males can be males because they
were born female but changed sexes because the only male
in their group died, as in parrotfish and clownfish.
Males can look and act like females because they are
trying to get close enough to actual females so they can
mate with them, as in cuttlefish and bluegills. Or you
can be one of thousands of sexes, as in slime molds and
some mushrooms.

Oh, did
you mean humans? Okay then. You can be male because you
were born female, but you have 5-alphareductase
deficiency and so you grew a penis at the age of 12. You
can be female because you have an X and a Y chromosome,
but you are insensitive to androgens, and so you have a
female body. You can be female because you have an X and
a Y chromosome, but your Y is missing the SRY gene, and
so you have a female body. You can be a male because you
have two X chromosomes, but one of your X's has a SRY
gene, and so you have a male body. You can be male
because you have two X chromosomes, but also a Y
chromosome. You can be a female because you have only
one X chromosome at all. And you can be a male because
you have two X chromosomes, but your heart and brain are
male. And vice versa.

Don't use
science to justify your bigotry. The world is way
too weird for that shit.

The one sentence that brought marriage equality to
Germany. Small moments can lead to enormous
change, like when Angela Merkel was politely confronted
on LGBTQ rights.

Most
Western European countries have embraced marriage
equality. Germany was late to the table but eventually
got there. The final proof will come October 1, 2017
when the first same-sex marriages take place.

Germany had been a hard nut to crack in terms of
legislation. But to everyone’s surprise, on June 26,
2017 it was one young man, Ulli Köppe, 28, who set a
chain of events in motion leading to the
long-sought-after equal marriage legislation. At a
public event he asked Angela Merkel, Germany’s
chancellor, a simple, but powerful question: “When
can I call my boyfriend my husband?”

German lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender
organizations and their allies have been advocating
equal marriage rights for many years. In 2001, the year
the Netherlands adopted the first marriage equality law,
Germany introduced registered partnership for same-sex
couples. Since 2010 opposition parties in the German
Parliament have taken steps to introduce same-sex
marriage, but these were blocked by the Christian
Democratic Union/Christian Social Union parties in two
subsequent governing coalitions. Merkel, chancellor
since 2005, had made opposition to marriage equality a
condition of a coalition agreement with her CDU/CSU
party.

In the summer of 2015, Human Rights Watch took the
initiative to bring some 20 German nongovernmental
organizations together in our Berlin office to open the
Ehe fur Alle (Marriage for All) campaign. Marriage
equality had popular appeal. In 2016 a study by
Germany’s federal antidiscrimination agency showed that
83 percent of people interviewed favored marriage
equality, but Merkel and her CDU/CSU party remained
dismissive.

The chancellor did not budge until the evening of June
26. She was speaking at a public event organized by the
women’s magazine Brigitte. Ulli Köppe, interested in
politics and social issues, and a fan of Merkel as a
politician, went to hear her speak in the Gorki Theater
in Berlin. When it was time for questions from the
audience, Köppe spontaneously grabbed the microphone and
asked his simple question: “When can I call my boyfriend
my husband?”

Angela Merkel, seemingly thinking out loud, answered
that same-sex marriage should be decided by each
individual member of Parliament. Köppe had not realized
the significance of this answer, but one journalist who
was attending recognized its political implications. The
next morning Köppe received calls from reporters from
every corner of the world.

Merkel had given in and was in favor of a free vote in
Parliament. Perhaps Merkel shifted her stance because
her potential coalition partners in a future government
had indicated same-sex marriage should be adopted and it
would be very difficult for Merkel’s party to form a new
government after the September elections while refusing
equal marriage rights.

Be that as it may, Köppe’s question and Merkel’s answer
led to a vote of conscience, which Merkel’s coalition
partner SPD (Socialdemokratische Partei Deutschland)
called for on June 30. The vote was 393 to 226, with
four abstentions. From the 393 yes votes, 75 came from
Merkel’s own party. Merkel voted no. The bill was
approved by the Bundesrat (Upper House) July 7, and
President Frank-Walter Steinmeier signed it July 21,
after which it was formally published in the law
gazette. The legislation will come into force October 1.

This chain of political events happened at an incredible
speed, triggered by one question. Ulli Köppe came to the
Human Rights Watch office in Berlin, and I asked him
what strategy he used to break down Angela Merkel’s firm
wall. His answer moved me: “My question was spontaneous.
It came from love.”

"Remember, straight people flaunt their straightness all
day, every day, in every part of this country."

Brandan
Robertson

"When all Americans are treated as equal, no matter who
they are or whom they love, we are all more free."
-President Barack Obama

June is national pride month, a month set aside to
remember, celebrate, and empower queer people and our
contributions to the flourishing of humanity. All across
the country, LGBTQ people and our allies will be
gathering for festivals, parades, parties,
demonstrations, and marches that boldly proclaim that we
are not ashamed of our queerness and that we will not be
silent until we have achieved full freedom and equality
in our society and every society around the world.

Yet during this month, there will also l be a lot of
pushback from the heterosexual communities and
individuals who just don’t understand what this whole
pride thing is about. I cant tell you the number of
times I have been cornered by straight people who look
me in the eyes and say, “I’m okay with you all being
gay, but why do you have to flaunt it in the streets?
You don’t see straight people doing that!”
To which I respond, “bullshit”.

I mean that in the kindest, most sincere way possible.
But straight and cisgender people are the most visible
people on planet earth, not just because of their sheer
numbers, but because their relationships, sexuality, and
gender expressions are seen as the “normative”
expressions, and therefore, uplifted and repeated in
every community around the country. Straight, cisgender
people hold hands as they walk down the street without
fear of getting accosted. They watch television shows
and movies, listen to music, and read books that center
on their relationships and gender expression. The
majority of advertisements on billboards, websites, and
television center on heterosexual and cisgender people.
And our government is set up to privilege and favor
heterosexual relationships above all others.

In short, straight people flaunt their straightness all
day, every day, in every part of this country. And
despite the far-right narrative that the “gays” are
taking over our country, for a majority of LGBTQ people
in America, it is still incredibly uncomfortable at
best, dangerous at worst to express ourselves in our
communities. In a majority of states across our country,
our rights and dignity are not fully protected by the
law, and, in fact, there are fierce movements that seek
to oppress and marginalize us and our relationships.

So, while we have seen tremendous progress in the fight
for LGBTQ equality, inclusion, and rights in the United
States, the reality is that we are incredibly far from
being fully equal in every realm of society. And that is
why pride is so important.

For many LGBTQ people, pride is the one time of the
year that they can be out and proud of who they are and
who they love. It’s the one time of year that they can
stand boldly in the streets with droves of other queer
individuals, proclaiming that we are fully human and
deserve to be celebrated and uplifted just like everyone
else. Even in cities that are seen as LGBTQ friendly,
it is still an incredibly healing experience to get to
march in parades or attend festivals where thousands
upon thousands of LGBTQ people are letting their lights
shine before all people without fear. Pride is often the
beginning of the process of healing from the trauma
inflicted on us by our heterosexist, patriarchal
society. Pride is a time where we step out of the
shadows and declare that we will no longer forced to
suppress our truest selves because of heterosexual
fragility and fear.

Now, of course, in the midst of all of the deeper causes
and meanings behind pride, it is also, most importantly,
a time of celebration. It’s a time to party, to relax,
and to let loose in public, which is something that
heterosexual and cisgender people get to do every single
day of the year, but something that LGBTQ people simply
don’t get to do. So yes, people of all shapes, sizes,
religions, ethnicities, races, and cultures will be
marching through the streets shirtless, and perhaps even pantless (hello speedos!) but this has a lot less to do
with LGBTQ being hyper-sexual or promiscuous. Instead,
it’s a radical display of liberation and safety, a time
to let our bodies and lives be seen as the beautiful
displays of creativity and majesty that they are-
something, again, that straight people get to see and do
every single day.

Pride marches and festivals were started as subversive
displays of light in the midst of the darkness of
heternormitivty and hatred, and today, for many, if not
most LGBTQ people, they still retain this important
meaning and power. Though they may look like giant
parties in the street, take a second and think about
what it feels like to march through a city, freely
expressing who you are, whom you love, and what you
desire for the first time without fearing that you’ll be
accosted, abused, or mocked. Think about all of the
children and teenagers who know they are LGBTQ but
cannot even begin to fathom taking a step out of the
closet for fear of abuse from their families, churches,
or peers, who look out at those celebrating pride and
see a glimpse of hope that things can get better, and
that they can be free, safe, and celebrated for who they
are. That is the power of pride, and that’s why pride
month is so damn important.

So, if you’re a straight person and you’re finding
yourself perplexed by the pride celebrations taking
place in your city this year, stop and remember that you
get to live out and proud every single day without fear,
without oppression, and without even thinking about it.
That is a unique gift that majority of LGBTQ people
have never gotten to experience. Think about all of the
hurdles to equality that still exist in our nation, and
the trauma that so many LGBTQ people have faced simply
because of who they are or who they love. And as you
reflect on the reality of LGBTQ people, I hope you
begin to realize the importance and power of pride, and
perhaps will even decide to pick up a rainbow flag and
stand on the sidelines cheering on your local LGBTQ
community as they fearlessly express their beauty in
your community.

When I was
a little boy I loved to play with Barbies and dolls.
Though my parents were supportive and loving, they could
not shield me from the world. It didn’t take long for me
to realize these toys weren’t meant for me, whatever
that means. It didn’t take long for me to realize I
risked verbal lashings or physical violence from other
kids if I didn’t learn the role I was meant to play.

So, I played with Barbies and dolls in secret, behind
locked doors and under covers, always scared that I
would get caught. I was terrified of what it meant that
I liked “girl toys” instead of those that were meant for
boys, and confused about how my childlike inclinations
could make grown adults so ill at ease.

I wish I could go back, knowing what I know now, and
tell that little boy a few things. I wish I could tell
him that he need not feel shame for doing what makes him
happy, and that people being uncomfortable about what
toys he plays with only speaks volumes about them, and
reflects nothing about him. I wish I could tell him all
of the times life was going to try to tell him to be one
way, and how he always had the option to be himself. I
wish I could tell him not to waste his time pretending
to have crushes on girls, or forcing himself to walk
with what he thought was the gait of a man, or feeling
angry that these things did not come naturally to him. I
wish I could tell him that while the threats of violence
he feared are real, and that he would be called a
‘faggot’ more than once (lots more than once) or made to
feel ‘less than’ based on something he could not
control, that he would one day create a life where he
felt comfortable being who he was.

I wish I could tell him that he wasn’t alone, and that
he’d never been alone. I wish I could tell him there
were people at that moment who were fighting and risking
their lives to make things better for him, and that one
day it would be his job to do the same thing for the
other people who needed it.

I wish I could tell him that the world was big, and not
always so scary, and it would one day open like an
oyster, despite the times he tried to close it, and that
he deserves love from other people, yes, but most
importantly, from himself.

I’ve written before about how I happen to unwittingly
fulfill various clichés of the single, witty (I hope)
gay man in the corner, and how I’ve gradually come to
terms with my plight. But on reflection, it goes far
beyond all that. In fact, I’m clearly a living,
breathing monument to all kinds of gay stereotypes—just
about every one you can think of, though I certainly
didn’t plan any of this; in fact, I’m basically a
self-made personality who grew up with no out gay role
models and had to form my persona from instinct. I’m
proud of myself for being out and vocal, and if I fit
too neatly into certain gay slots, at least I do it my
way. But there’s no denying that I’m as stereotypical as
an interior decorator with a lisp and a handbag. Let me
lay it all out for you, in stereotypical fashion:

--I love show tunes! I can’t help it, but I’m a clichéd
theater queen who lives for a good musical. I grew up
watching excerpts from Broadway musicals on TV variety
shows, longing to see them in person because I knew
their glitzy spunk would lift me out of my shell and
drive me way over the top. Alas, the first show I was
taken to see was Man of La Mancha, a muddy, moody, very
brown enterprise that wasn’t exactly what the gay doctor
ordered. But in the following decade, when I caught the
original productions of A Chorus Line and Chicago in the
same year, my head spun from the joy, invention, and
musicianship on display. That cemented my theater queen
status for all time, and now there’s never a musical I
miss—including the one about Tourette’s syndrome a few
years back. And I stayed for Act Two!

--I live for divas! I love a good, strong, glittery
female performer—any time, any place. Even back in the
Broadway shows I mentioned, it was the women—Donna
McKechnie, Gwen Verdon, Chita Rivera—who made my blood
boil with excitement. There’s nothing more fun for me
than a peppy, funny, powerful lady with pipes and
personality, whether it be Judy, Barbra, Liza, Diana,
Madonna, Rihanna, or Gaga. And what could be more
stereotypical than that?

--I’m terrible at
sports! At school, I used to dread having to go on the
parallel bars or be thrown into the pool. I eventually
managed to get into the school orchestra, partly so that
would give me an out from having to go to gym class. But
that didn’t mean
my torture had ended--hardly. In the schoolyard, I was
not even the last one chosen when the kids divvied up
teams. After they picked everyone they wanted, they
would simply leave me there, as unselected as
non-organic kale! There was a brief period when I became
interested in the New York Mets, mainly because it was a
way to bond with my father, but watching them play was
as far as I was going to go when it came to
participatory sports. And as the world’s perception of
gays in sports kept evolving and gay didn’t equal klutzy
anymore, I stubbornly clung to my pathetic-ness, more of
an old stereotype than ever. Even a game of Chess is too
strenuous for me. But at least when all the gays started
obsessively working out, I only went to the gym a total
of four times. Dodged a stereotype that time!

--I adore campy movies. My favorite kinds of movies
aren’t necessarily the Oscar winners—they’re glossy,
overproduced, hyper-acted “trash” like Valley of the
Dolls, Mahogany, and Mommie Dearest. Watching these
godforsaken gems over and over again, I can’t even see
anything wrong with them. They are pure joy and work for
me on every level, from fashion show to cautionary tale
and beyond. I’d go so far as to say they’re good.
Stereotype, anyone?

--I live for the
nightlife. Like a good (clichéd) gay, I can’t get enough
of bars, even after all these years. I break the mold in
that I don’t drink or dance, so I’m definitely a
stranger in a strange land, but still, I ritualistically
feed off the ambience
of nightspots where slightly cracked but fascinating
people get together to let out their ya-yas and express
themselves. And if that makes me a stereotype, so be it.

So
there you have it. I’m an old school gay cliché from my
asymmetrically coiffed head to my ultra light loafers.
And rather than crawl under a gay rock about it, I’ve
decided to embrace my status because it’s not a choice,
and besides, “stereotypical” behavior is often stuff
that emerges as a direct result of being gay. When I was
growing up, “sissies” weren’t generally chosen to play
on teams (as I mentioned), which certainly dampened our
interest in sports. And “sissies” like me escaped into
divas and show biz and playing parts in school plays
(and instruments in the orchestra), where we could
pretend to be someone else, while gleefully making our
own kind of music. Also, we learned to cultivate our
witty, cutely catty sides in order to get positive
attention and be popular at gatherings—it was always the
wit of the outsider, gaining access to the mainstream
through zingy intellect. And speaking of gatherings, we
eventually immersed ourselves in nightlife because
there, we found other like-minded, damaged but lovable
weirdos who suddenly belonged because we’d created a
family of fabulous freaks. If that all makes me a
stereotype, so be it.

After all, some stereotypes happen to be endearing
(we’re real people, not just formulas with bank
accounts), as long as you bring some originality to
them. And I know I do! Yes, I’m stereotypically smug
too.

The last decade was a time of historic progress for our
country. Now, as 2016 comes to a close, we have come
upon an uncertain crossroads: whether to return to a
time of even greater discrimination and inequality, or
to declare with one clear voice that We Won’t Go Back.

Late in the night of November 8, as I stood beneath the
Jacob Javits Center’s towering glass ceiling in
Manhattan alongside my husband, Nate, that crossroads
came into clear view. A few steps away, a little girl
was sobbing on the floor. She had spent hours coloring a
map of the United States, atop which large, colorful
crayon print read, “Hillary for President.” By then, the
map had more red than blue, and we realized that little
girl’s wishes (and more than half of the country’s) were not to be. As we exited the building amid fallen
American flags and discarded “Clinton/Kaine” buttons, I
unconsciously whispered, “It feels like we’re in an
alternate universe.”

That sentiment was certainly shared by millions of my
fellow citizens November 8. But for me, the outcome of
the electoral vote soon felt both very personal and real, that somehow the collective decision of more than 62
million strangers was a recalibration of everything I
thought true about my country. Perhaps this was because,
like many other young people, I had volunteered and
worked for Barack Obama even before he decided to run
for president, holding a “Draft Obama” sign on the
frozen streets of Manchester, NH, working for his
campaign in 2008 and 2012, and later in the White House.

Then, on New Year's Eve in 2012, I had asked my fiancé
to marry me inside the historic Stonewall Inn, the site
of the origin story for the modern LGBTQ movement. And
just over a year before walking inside the Javits
Center, I married my husband in front of our friends and
family, equal in their eyes, but also equal in the eyes
of the country I love.

Suddenly, on November 8, 2016, the progress that I felt
in my own life seemed to be reversed by 46 percent of
the electorate, and many of the reasons why are well
documented.

Donald Trump is assembling one of the most anti-LGBTQ
Administrations in modern American history. Jeff
Sessions, Betsy DeVos, Ben Carson, James Mattis, and
many others filling his Cabinet (without even mentioning
the abysmal record of Vice President-elect Mike Pence)
have categorically opposed equality for years. And then
there’s the troubling rise of hate crimes since the
election; the disconcerting spike of calls to suicide
hotlines, many of them LGBTQ; and the elevation of a
candidate who has personally promoted bigotry, misogyny,
and division throughout his entire pursuit of elective
office. Surely, these developments were more than enough
to keep millions of my peers and me curled up in a fetal
position for a few days in early November.

Yet in the thick of my vow never to leave my house
again, I was reminded of the words of the legendary
LGBTQ activist Sylvia Rivera: “Hell hath no fury like a
drag queen scorned.” Said differently: We Won’t Go Back.

Surely, those four words must have motivated great
Americans like Sylvia, when she rioted for justice in
front of Stonewall; they must have inspired Harvey Milk
when he confronted likely death to tell us that we must
“never be silent”; and they surely gave James Baldwin
solace when he said, bravely, “Love him and let him love
you. Do you think anything else under heaven really
matters?”

For me, We Won’t Go Back not only summed up the LGBTQ
struggle to come, but also the African-American, Latino,
immigrant, American, and human struggle as well. As soon
as I said those four words out loud at the end of that
long week in November, I again found hope. So I created
a campaign with the same name to give Americans of all
backgrounds the opportunity to fight for the highest
ideals of the country they love.

We Won’t Go Back is now a place to contact our elected
officials; to support the causes we believe in; to
organize, volunteer, and get registered to vote; and to
build an inclusive, hopeful future. Most importantly, I
hope We Won’t Go Back enables new voices to be heard and
stories to be told. Using #WeWontGoBack, you can tweet,
write, or record a video telling the world why you won’t
go back, what you’re fighting for, and what’s at stake
for you, your family, and your community.

As one of our supporters said, “I won’t go back because
I’ve fought so long to be here.” Indeed, we all have. And we’ve come too far to turn back now.

By John Pavlovitz / Pastor of North Raleigh Community
Church / November 2016

I don’t think you understand us right now. I think you
think this is about politics. I think you believe this
is all just sour grapes; the crocodile tears of the
losing locker room with the scoreboard going against us
at the buzzer. I can only tell you that you’re wrong.
This is not about losing an election. This isn’t about
not winning a contest. This is about two very different
ways of seeing the world.

Hillary supporters believe in a diverse America; one
where religion or skin color or sexual orientation or
place of birth aren’t liabilities or deficiencies or
moral defects. Her campaign was one of inclusion and
connection and interdependency. It was about building
bridges and breaking ceilings. It was about going high.

Trump supporters believe in a very selective America;
one that is largely white and straight and Christian,
and the voting verified this. Donald Trump has never
made any assertions otherwise. He ran a campaign of fear
and exclusion and isolation, and that’s the vision of
the world those who voted for him have endorsed.

They have aligned with the wall-builder and the
professed pussy-grabber, and they have co-signed his
body of work, regardless of the reasons they give for
their vote:

Every horrible thing Donald Trump ever said about women
or Muslims or people of color has now been validated.
Every profanity-laced press conference and every call to
bully protestors and every ignorant diatribe has been
endorsed. Every piece of anti-LGBTQ legislation Mike
Pence has championed has been signed-off on. Half of our
country has declared these things acceptable, noble,
American.

This is the disconnect and the source of our grief
today. It isn’t a political defeat that we’re lamenting,
it’s a defeat for Humanity. We’re not angry that our
candidate lost. We’re angry because our candidate’s
losing means this country will be less safe, less kind,
and less available to a huge segment of its population,
and that’s just the truth.

Those who have always felt vulnerable are now left more
so. Those whose voices have been silenced will be
further quieted. Those who always felt marginalized will
be pushed further to the periphery. Those who feared
they were seen as inferior now have confirmation in
actual percentages. Those things have essentially been
campaign promises of Donald Trump, and so many of our
fellow citizens have said this is what they want too.

This has never been about politics.
This is not about one candidate over the other.
It’s not about one’s ideas over another’s.
It is not blue vs. red.
It’s not her emails vs. his bad language.
It’s not her dishonesty vs. his indecency.
It’s about overt racism and hostility toward minorities.
It’s about religion being weaponized.
It’s about crassness and vulgarity and disregard for
women.
It’s about a barricaded, militarized, bully nation.
It’s about an unapologetic, open-faced ugliness.

And it is not only that these things have been ratified
by our nation that grieve us; all this hatred, fear,
racism, bigotry, and intolerance, it’s knowing that
these things have been amen-ed by our neighbors, our
families, our friends, those we work with and worship
alongside. That is the most horrific thing of all. We
now know how close this.

It feels like living in enemy territory being here now,
and there’s no way around that. We wake up today in a
home we no longer recognize. We are grieving the loss of
a place we used to love but no longer do. This may be
America today but it is not the America we believe in or
recognize or want.

This is not about a difference of political opinion, as
that’s far too small to mourn over. It’s about a
fundamental difference in how we view the worth of all
people, not just those who look or talk or think or vote
the way we do.

Grief always laments what might have been, the future we
were robbed of, the tomorrow that we won’t get to see,
and that is what we walk through today. As a nation we
had an opportunity to affirm the beauty of our diversity
this day, to choose ideas over sound bytes, to let
everyone know they had a place at the table, to be the
beacon of goodness and decency we imagine that we are,
and we said no.

The Scriptures say that weeping endures for a night but
joy comes in the morning. We can’t see that dawn coming
any time soon. And this is why we grieve.

On our first date, you may have thought it was oddly
endearing that I explained the Stonewall riots in detail
and railed against anti-gay Texan politicians. Over
romantic candlelight, you held my hand gently as I
criticized the Pope and quoted homophobic lines from his
last three speeches. To my surprise, you stayed for
dessert, looked into my eyes and simply listened. I
can’t remember what I ranted about during the peach
cobbler.

Miraculously, hundreds of dinners later, you still
listen to me. Sometimes softly nodding and sometimes
screaming in unison against the realities of injustice.
I love you for this but I can’t help but wonder — what
would we have time to talk about if being ourselves was
universally accepted? If we didn’t have to fight? If we
didn’t hold our breath every time “Christians” debated
what we’re allowed to do and where we’re allowed to go
to the bathroom? What would we do with all the extra
time? Would we take up gardening? Probably not. But we
could. We’d have the option.

Remember that time when we were walking in the mall and
a guy yelled right in our faces because we were holding
hands? For months after that, whenever we held hands, I
felt this tug on my heart, a twinge of anger, a surge of
adrenalin, bracing myself for it to happen again. It was
such a small thing in comparison to what other people
have gone through, and even that broke my heart. It’s
horrific that something as simple and sacred as holding
your hand would make me worry about our safety. I can’t
help but wonder — what would holding your hand feel like
if I never had to wonder?

Don’t get me wrong, I love being gay. Especially with
you. If I wasn’t gay when I met you, I would choose to
be gay in a second. There’s just no way around it. And I
know I am privileged in many ways. I am/we are lucky.
Still, pieces of our lives are stolen without our
consent, because we are forced to pause. To stop and
read article after article after article, poring over
legislation and resolutions about how our love may put
us in danger.

We sign petitions and come out over and over again and
worry about our LGBTQ friends in other countries and ask
and ask and ask people to not get tired of caring
because we are tired as hell. It’s not that I don’t want
to care. I just don’t want to care about THIS.

Our love story should be about celebration, not
avoidance of tragedy. Because we are far more than that.
I just want to know what it’s like to not have our
relationship be the target of political or religious
ammunition. I want to stop defending our existence. We
could use that extra time to do whatever we wanted. How
glorious it would be to eat Kraft dinner at midnight
with nothing interesting to talk about! How wonderful to
open our newsfeed and be bored by the lack of
controversy then watch Netflix together! How beautiful
it would be to hold your hand and never wonder.

But until then... thank you. For being next to me for
the desperate sighs and the 2am tap-tap-tap typing of
letters to editors. For being next to me for all of the
victories and rainbow colored picket signs and lesbian
activist potlucks. Maybe one day we’ll get all of that
time back, but in the meantime, I’ll take whatever time
I can have with you.

You tried but you foolishly came after the wrong
community. You forgot we wake up every day to face a
world that is against us. You failed to consider that
living our lives takes much more than just bravery. It
takes blistering defiance.

You may come into our sanctuaries of safety and shoot
103 of us, but you forgot; we’ve been tortured,
tormented, thrown off buildings, gassed, stripped of our
rights, tied to fences and beaten.

You underestimated our defiance. And every time one of
us dies, suffers or gets marginalized, we get that much
more defiant. This weekend we got 103 times more
defiant.

We sob for the loss, but our wounds will heal. And we
will continue to defy you with grace, compassion,
inclusion, celebration, joy, humor, creativity, peaceful
assembly and protest in the way only our community can.
That’s how we defy. We defy every day by
unapologetically living our lives in a world that’s
against us.

We don’t kill. We don’t terrorize. It’s pure weakness.

You forgot where we came from. You failed to see where
we are now.

You forgot that no one will ever stifle our defiance. No
terrorist. No legislator. No presidential candidate. No
bully. No zealot. No one.

We’ve never been more defiant than we are today. Your
plan failed. Now we will stand taller. We will be
prouder. We will dance freely in our clubs. We will get
loud. We will hold hands in public, even if we don’t
feel safe. We will spit in the face of bigotry.

For a great number of people their sexual orientation
does match their romantic orientation -- but not always.
The LGBTQ movement has managed to conflate sexual and
romantic orientation through the decades and yet this
risks leaving many people confused about where exactly
they fit.

The narrow definitions and conflation of identities have
been so clearly shown by the treatment of aromantic and
asexual people within the LGBTQ community. Aro and ace
communities have been far better at recognizing
different nuances of identities than the wider LGBTQ
movement. The grey scale is a term in itself which
clearly shows the wonderful world of complicated and
personal identities. It is an acceptance that there are
not just 'on' or 'off' switches with sexuality and
romantic experiences. Yet ace and aro people face
erasure regularly within the LGBTQ community.
Conversations are designed around sexuality, the right
to always have sex but excluding those who do not have
the same desires. It is all about sex with members of
the same gender. Queer spaces are so often simply
pulling spaces, particularly when centered around
alcohol.

LGBTQ people do need places to fulfill sexual and
romantic desires free from harassment but that shouldn't
be the sole focus of spaces claiming to be for all
identities. We also need to address our terms, not only
is crying that we're for 'the freedom of love' incorrect
as it erases trans people, but it also erases aromantic
people which immediately says that this movement is not
for them.

The shift to make LGBTQ politics respectable has risked
abandoning many people who should be embraced into the
community. The constant focus on presenting LGBTQ people
as always in stable, loving, same gender relationships
(especially marriages) and with children presents a very
one dimensional idea of who belongs in this community.
If you don't want a romantic relationship but just want
sexual partners then there is the implication that
you're doing harm to the reputation of the community. If
you don't want sexual relationships with someone of the
same gender then the implication is you don't fit in at
all. Everything is designed around making LGBTQ people's
presentation as acceptable as possible to cisgender
heterosexual people.

This is also an issue for many who do not identify as
asexual or aromantic. For instance: it is entirely
possible to experience sexual attraction to one gender
but romantic attraction to another gender. One may be
heterosexual but that doesn't mean that are
automatically heteroromantic. I myself am bisexual yet
homoromantic (although because I experience romantic
attraction exclusively to women then that means I often
find far more acceptance in the LGBTQ community than
other bisexual women I know because they are
heteroromantic).

The LGBTQ world has become a marketing machine. Our
images and PR campaigns whether it comes to marriage
equality or floats at Pride have become carefully
crafted over the years. Gone are the radical political
elements that wanted to smash binaries and capitalism
and in its place is the LGBTQ happy family presented in
a very narrow and manipulated way.

LGBTQ organizations have become solely focused on
selling the Disney story: where two white, middle class
cis guys or two cis girls fall in love, get married and
have wonderful children. We've forgotten why we started
this fight. It was not for cis, straight, white, middle
class people to finally be able to tolerate us but for
the complete liberation from narrow binaries and
prejudices that dominate society. It was not just for
'gay love' but for people to be treated and recognized
as human beings who deserve nothing more or less than
total respect for their identities. It was for all those
outside of the norms society tried to force upon us and
that includes all of the variations of sexual and
romantic attractions that are not solely heterosexual or
heteroromantic.

Having a brother or
sister who is LGBTQ changes you in some very profound
ways. It gives you a perspective on life you would not
otherwise have. Having an LGBTQ sibling actually makes
you a better person in the following ways.

--It shows you, in a
very intense way, the power of embracing who you are.
Chances are your sibling did not have an easy time
coming out, even if you have the most understanding
family in the entire world. No matter how progressive
the world is getting, coming out still essentially means
having to announce to everyone in your world that
you are different from the majority of them in a large
way. Watching a sibling go through this shows you how
important it is to be open, proud, and unapologetic
about exactly who you are.

--It reminds you that
everyone is struggling with something. My older sister
was third in her high school class, took more AP classes
than I thought was humanly possible, and graduated from
Vanderbilt with an insanely high GPA. When I think back
to how people viewed her before she came out in her
early twenties, they were always commenting on how smart
and impressive she was (and still is). But internally,
she spent years struggling with an identity that was
initially very emotionally traumatizing for her. When
your sibling comes out to you, it hits you in a very
hard way that everyone you know, even those you least
expect, are often suffering in a way you could never
even imagine.

--You learn not to get so
defensive and aggressive about things you don’t
understand. We’re a world of hotheads, especially now
that social media is a key factor in our lives. When
someone believes something or does something that is
different from us, human nature makes us want to react
with anger and aggression, sometimes even violence. But
having an LGBTQ sibling teaches you that everyone has a
story, and that the only way we are going to grow as
people is if we start with compassion.

--You get a strong
reminder that nobody is exactly like you. Your sibling
grew up with the same religious and socio-economic
background as you, and unless adoption was involved, you
share the same DNA, same race, same ethnicity, and many
physical similarities. And still, they are so different
from you in so many ways. It’s a beautiful lesson that
no person is ever going to feel, think, and behave
exactly like you.

--You better understand
the ways in which you are privileged. I don’t think
anything is better for the human soul than having
friends and loved ones from all sorts of diverse
backgrounds, to remind you that the world will never be
homogenous, nor should it be. An LGBTQ sibling teaches
you that the things that come easy to you do not always
come easy to other people. No anxiety about bringing
your partner to the office holiday party for the first
time, no worries about whether or not all your relatives
will come to and support your wedding, no mistreatment
from homophobic people.

--It reinforces that you
should never judge a book by its cover. You will never
ever have the ability to look at a person and know
exactly what they’ve been through and exactly how their
world works.

--You learn what “family”
actually means. After my sister came out to everyone in
my immediate family, it was a while before the rest of
our relatives and social circles knew. And oddly enough,
it brought us closer, probably because my family’s way
of dealing with any slightly difficult situation is to
use inappropriate humor. I know that our situation was
more like the exception than the rule. But whether your
family embraced your sibling or rejected them, you learn
the definition of a real family: those people who, while
not always blood-related, loved your sibling
unconditionally and supported them for exactly who they
are.

--It makes you more aware
of the word choices you make. I used to ask females if
they had a boyfriend and males if they had a girlfriend,
because I was a female, and I liked males, and I forgot
that that’s not how it works for everyone. But after my
sister came out to me, it was a much-needed reminder
that you should be very conscious about what you say, in
all situations. Some people are not heterosexual. Some
people suffer from depression. Some people’s parents are
deceased. Some people don’t feel comfortable in the body
that they were born into. You shouldn’t walk around on
egg shells, but you should pay more attention to the
things you say and what they could imply.

--You have a close
relationship with someone who is wise beyond their
years. Your sibling probably started feeling like they
were a little different from their peers at a very young
age. And they probably kept a lot of their fear,
anxiety, (sometimes) self-loathing, depression, and
questions to themselves. They experienced stress and
worry that many people don’t encounter until adulthood.
You have the timeless advice, help, and wisdom of a
young soul in an instant, through a text, phone call, or
a conversation at Mom’s house.

--It broadens your view
of exactly what love means. As a child, love is a couple
of Disney characters who fall for each other within five
minutes of meeting. In real life, you’ve learned (much
from the help of your sibling) that real love is about
courage, honesty, struggle, difficult choices,
acceptance, trust, and truth.

It means that despite you knowing from a very young age
that you were ‘different’ (whether you liked the same
sex, or both sexes, or you didn’t identify with the sex
you were assigned at birth) none of that matters.
Everyone will tell you that you’re just “confused” and
you need to be shown that being a cisgender, straight
person is the only way to live in our society.

It means living in fear. If your parents or grandparents
find out that you’re queer, they could disown you, or
try to change you. In India, you can be arrested for
having same-sex sex, or be pressured into a mixed
orientation marriage to ‘cure’ you. In the US, your
employer can still legally fire you and your landlord
can legally evict you, just because of your LGBTQ
identity, in over half the states in the country. In
addition, there will be constantly be debates over
whether or not business owners should be allowed to
refuse people like you service because of their
religious beliefs, because they claim that their
religion condemns your “lifestyle”. Politicians will
tell you that you should be grateful that you’re even
allowed to exist peacefully in this country, because in
several countries around the world, homosexuality is a
crime punishable by death, or by physical punishments
which will likely leave you close to death.

When you go to the temple to worship and associate with
other devotees, you will constantly be checking
yourself. For example, when you try to befriend another
devotee, or really any person you meet, you’re aware
there is always a 50% chance that when this person finds
out you identify as LGBTQ, they will feel the need to
call you sinful and disgusting (or even worse), even if
they know nothing else about you. You’re queer. That is
enough to condemn you. You’re used to this, because this
has been going on your whole life.

You will be constantly asked, “But how do you regulate
your sex life?” as if that is the most pressing issue in
your life. People will never be interested in protecting
your civil rights, because they need to know whether or
not you have gay sex. You will never be looked upon as a
person. You will always be reduced to the sexual acts
you have in the privacy of your own home. You will
always be seen as sexual, never as spiritual.

You will be referred to as “garbage” by people who claim
to love the same God you do, the same God who has said
in the Bhagavad Gita that He hates no one, because He
dwells in every being.

We have few occasions in life to be witness to
extraordinary history. This is one of those days. Today
same-sex couples in Washington are getting married under
a law approved by the voters. For the first time in the
United States, their marriage is legal not because of
actions by legislatures or courts but because their
equal rights were affirmed by their peers across the
state at the ballot box. That shift is momentous and one
of which I am incredibly proud.

On election night I was overcome by emotion as I took
the stage for a celebration of our state's same-sex
marriage efforts. I looked out over a crowd of several
thousand who had fought so hard for this moment. They
were young and old, families and couples, military
members past and present, businesspeople and public
servants, of all races and all backgrounds, and for the
first time marriage equality was within their reach. It
was the most memorable moments in my 20 years in elected
office.

Like any
journey, ours was one of a million steps by thousands of
everyday people. Nearly 25 years ago Washington elected
the first openly gay member of our legislature, Cal
Anderson. Today, 17 years after his death, Cal's dream
has been realized. We stand on his shoulders and the
shoulders of so many who brought us to this point.

In Seattle the first couple to receive their marriage
license had been together for 35 years. Today, after a
very long engagement, they are getting married. Across
Washington similar stories abound. Hundreds stood in
line overnight so that they would not have to wait a
moment longer for the rights they deserve. Within the
first 24 hours more than 800 same-sex couples applied
for marriage licenses.

Just as importantly, the voters have told all our
families that they are equal under the law. They told
the children of same-sex families that their parents'
love is not different. To the parents who have fought so
fiercely for the rights of their much-loved gay and
lesbian children, Washington said they, too, will
someday witness their son's or daughter's wedding. And
we told the young people out there who are wondering
about their future that it does in fact get better, that
they will have the chance to grow up in a state that
loves and values them for who they are, not for whom
they love.

As my own daughters taught me, this is indeed the civil
rights issue of our time. There will come a time when,
across our country, the ability to marry the person you
love will not be an issue. Future generations will look
back and wonder why we ever denied this basic human
right. We can't rest until that moment. I will be with
you every step of the way.

Here in the United States, we're united by a fundamental
principle: we're all created equal and every single
American deserves to be treated equally in the eyes of
the law. We believe that no matter who you are, if you
work hard and play by the rules, you deserve the chance
to follow your dreams and pursue your happiness. That's
America's promise.

That's
why, for instance, Americans can't be fired from their
jobs just because of the color of their skin or for
being Christian or Jewish or a woman or an individual
with a disability. That kind of discrimination has no
place in our nation. And yet, right now, in 2013, in
many states a person can be fired simply for being
lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender. As a result,
millions of LGBTQ Americans go to work every day fearing
that, without any warning, they could lose their jobs --
not because of anything they've done, but simply because
of who they are. It's offensive. It's wrong. And it
needs to stop, because in the United States of America,
who you are and who you love should never be a fireable
offense.

That's why
Congress needs to pass the Employment Non-Discrimination
Act, also known as ENDA, which would provide strong
federal protections against discrimination, making it
explicitly illegal to fire someone because of their
sexual orientation or gender identity. Americans ought
to be judged by one thing only in their workplaces:
their ability to get their jobs done. Does it make a
difference if the firefighter who rescues you is gay --
or the accountant who does your taxes, or the mechanic
who fixes your car? If someone works hard every day,
does everything he or she is asked, is responsible and
trustworthy and a good colleague, that's all that should
matter.

Business
agrees. The majority of Fortune 500 companies and small
businesses already have nondiscrimination policies that
protect LGBTQ employees. These companies know that it's
both the right thing to do and makes good economic
sense. They want to attract and retain the best workers,
and discrimination makes it harder to do that. So too
with our nation. If we want to create more jobs and
economic growth and keep our country competitive in the
global economy, we need everyone working hard,
contributing their ideas, and putting their abilities to
use doing what they do best. We need to harness the
creativity and talents of every American.

So I urge
the Senate to vote yes on ENDA and the House of
Representatives to do the same. America is at a turning
point. We're not only becoming more accepting and loving
as a people, we're becoming more just as a nation. But
we still have a way to go before our laws are equal to
our Founding ideals. As I said in my second inaugural
address, our nation's journey toward equality isn't
complete until our gay brothers and sisters are treated
like anyone else under the law, for if we are truly
created equal, then surely the love we commit to one
another must be equal as well.

In America
of all places, people should be judged on the merits: on
the contributions they make in their workplaces and
communities, and on what Martin Luther King Jr. called
"the content of their character." That's what ENDA helps
us do. When Congress passes it, I will sign it into law,
and our nation will be fairer and stronger for
generations to come.

Last year, a gunman stormed into the Pulse nightclub in
Orlando, a place frequented by many in the gay
community, and killed 49 people. It was the largest mass
murder in US history. In response, many religious
leaders expressed sympathy for the people of Orlando, as
well as for the LGBTQ community.

Many Catholic leaders did the same. But of the over 250
Catholic bishops in this country, only a handful
mentioned the words gay or LGBTQ. It was as if speaking
those words would signal a tacit approval of a group
that the Catholic Church has long held at arm’s length.
To me, it was a confirmation of what many Catholics
already knew: There is no group more marginalized in the
church today than the LGBTQ community. Even in death
they remained invisible.

In my almost 30 years as a Jesuit priest, I have heard
the most appalling stories of LGBTQ people being
ignored, excluded and insulted by the church. Last week
I received a message from someone who said that a gay
friend of hers was dying in a hospice in the Southwest
US. Did I know, she wondered, a priest who would pray
with him? The priest assigned to the hospice, she said,
was refusing to. Because he was gay. How
unchristian this is! And how unlike what Jesus would
want us to do.

In some parts of the Gospels,
Jesus’s actions remain somewhat mysterious. Or open for
interpretation. And the question “What would Jesus do?”
can occasionally be hard to answer. But one thing about
his ministry is clear: Jesus continually reached out to
people who were on the margins of society--men and women
who were ignored, excluded and insulted. Much like LGBTQ
people are today.

The Gospel of Luke recounts the story of Zacchaeus, the
chief tax collector in the ancient city of Jericho. In
that time and culture, because he would have been
colluding with Rome, he would also have been seen as the
“chief sinner” in the city. Zacchaeus, described as
“short in stature,” climbs a sycamore tree to “see who
Jesus was,” as the miracle worker from Nazareth passed
through his town.

When Jesus spies the tax collector perched in the tree,
he doesn’t shout out, “Sinner!” He says something more
surprising. “Hurry and come down,” says Jesus, “for I
must stay at your house today.” What’s he doing?
He is offering Zacchaeus a public sign of welcome.
The townspeople “grumble,” the Gospel tells us. They
don’t like what Jesus is doing. In response, Zacchaeus
“stands his ground” and says he will repay all his
debts. So for Jesus, it is usually community first,
conversion second. Welcome comes first.

Catholics are growing in their recognition of the need
to welcome their LGBTQ brothers and sisters. Why? Mainly
because more of their family members and friends are
coming out, and being open about their sexuality and
identity. A few decades ago many Catholics would have
considered themselves “safe” from the “problem” of LGBTQ
people. No longer.

A few months ago, after a talk at Yale University’s
Catholic Center, an elderly woman approached me. With
white hair and a twinkle in her eye, she looked like the
quintessential grandmother. I had just given a lecture
on a book I had written on Jesus, so I thought that she
would say something like, “I just made a pilgrimage to
the Holy Land.” Or “Let me tell you my favorite Gospel
passage.” Instead she said something surprising.

“Father,” she said, “my grandchild is transgender, and I
love her so much. All I want for her is to know that God
loves her, and that she’s welcome in our church.”
A few years ago, her grandchild may never have shared
that with her. So for this elderly woman the issue of
LGBTQ people might have remained one that did not touch
her life. But today more and more Catholics are
affected.

This means that ministering to LGBTQ Catholics means
ministering not simply to the relatively small
percentage of Catholics who are lesbian, gay, bisexual
or transgender, but to a whole constellation of people
touched by the issue: grandparents and parents, aunts
and uncles, sisters and brothers, college roommates,
coworkers, friends and fellow parishioners.

Why should Catholics accept and love LGBTQ people? For
countless reasons, but let me suggest three.
First, they are our brothers and sisters. Second, Jesus
would ask us to reach out specifically to those who feel
they are on the margins, and today this means LGBTQ
person.
Third, and most importantly, for Jesus there is no one
who is outside the community. There is no one who is
“other.” For Jesus, there is no us and them. There is
only us.

At their convention, Democrats finally say it loud and
clear. More than a dozen speakers mentioned LGBTQ
equality on the first two nights of the Democratic
convention, including Michelle Obama, who positioned
marriage equality as a new ingredient of American
greatness: “If proud Americans can be who they are and
boldly stand at the altar with who they love, then
surely, surely we can give everyone in this country a
fair chance at that great American Dream.” Openly gay
speakers are getting primetime billing. A record-setting
8 percent of delegates are LGBTQ. The party’s
unprecedented embrace of gay equality comes a week after
Joe Biden thanked gay rights advocates in Provincetown
for “freeing the soul of the American people.” The gay
rights movement, said the vice president, was advancing
the “civil rights of every straight American.” For gay
people’s “courage,” he said, “We owe you.”

There you have it: For the first time ever, Democrats at
their most public, high-profile moment are treating gay
rights as a political winner. They’re moving along with
public opinion: In the latest Harris Interactive poll,
52 percent of likely voters favored same-sex marriage,
including 70 percent of Democrats and 55 percent of
independents.

If the gay love affair is part political calculation, it
also reflects a lesson from both American history and
queer theory: minorities need not always conform to the
majority, and their advances can actually make things
better for everyone. This message helps rewrite the
false script conservatives have created (with too much
help from liberals) that representing the needs of
minorities is mere interest-group politics, the doling
out of goodies in exchange for votes.

Instead, equality is increasingly (and correctly) cast as
a means of improving not only the lot of minorities, but
the country for us all. New York magazine recently
reported the trend of a growing number of straight
couples quoting gay marriage court decisions in their
own wedding ceremonies. Expanding access appears to be
rejuvenating rather than destroying the institution. As
Slate reported earlier this year, statistics bear this
out. The marriage rate in Massachusetts, the first state
to allow gay couples to wed, actually went up in the
years same-sex marriage became legal, even adjusting for
the initial 16 percent increase caused by pent-up demand
by gay couples waiting to wed. What’s more, in each of
the five states that legalized same-sex marriage
starting in 2004, divorce rates dropped even while the
average rate across the country rose. These figures give
the lie to breathless warnings that same-sex marriage
will harm marriage. Also, an estimated 2 million kids
have a parent who is LGBTQ, and a subset of them have
two gay parents who are raising them together—for all
the reasons conservatives praise marriage, these kids
benefit when their parents can make their commitments
legal, another benefit to LGBTQ equality that goes
beyond the rights of gays themselves.

Add to the list the end of “don’t ask, don’t tell.” The
policy deprived the nation of thousands of capable
service members across its 17 years (on average, two were
kicked out every day, at a taxpayer cost of hundreds of
millions of dollars). Many were mission-critical
specialists with skills like Arabic translation and
counterterrorism expertise. Today our military can
harness that talent. And now that the controversy has
been resolved, elite colleges that used to supply our
military with top talent are again welcoming recruiters
whom they’d moved off campus due to their discriminatory
policy.

Equal rights fosters openness, which has positive
fallout of its own. There are no doubt fewer sham
marriages than there were in the 1950s. Gay-straight
friendships are more authentic without a lifelong secret
blocking discussion about love and intimacy. Straight
men are likely more forgiving of their own nonconformist
impulses (perhaps including passing same-sex desires).
Parents have fewer estranged relations with sons and
daughters whose deepest secrets and fears they once
could never know, and whose struggles with depression
and loneliness they sought in vain to understand. And
the nation has embarked on an important discussion about
bullying and youth suicide that stands to have real
benefits for all young people, not just LGBTQ ones, who
feel despair because they sense they are different or
alone.

The principle that minority equality helps the majority
was one of Martin Luther King Jr.’s most important
insights during the black civil rights movement. “The
stirring lesson of this age,” King declared, “is that
mass nonviolent direct action is not a peculiar device
for Negro agitation,” but a “method for defending
freedom and democracy, and for enlarging these values
for the benefit of the whole society.” As the historian,
Taylor Branch has explained, “The civil rights movement
liberated segregationists themselves,” just as King had
theorized. Racial terrorism dropped and integration led
to business growth and a decline in poverty.
Enfranchised black voters helped revive a genuine
two-party political system in the South as the politics
of white supremacy faded. Meritocracy replaced arbitrary
exclusion.

In 2009, Brent Childers, a Southern Baptist and onetime
anti-gay bigot, wrote movingly in Newsweek of the kind
of personal liberation that both King and Biden
described: “Once I walked away from the Church’s
teachings of rejection and condemnation of gay people,
my relationship with God transcended to a higher
spiritual plateau.” Childers’ religious transformation
is a secular experience for many others. But the point
is the same. Americans suffer for holding prejudices
that we know enough to shed. The souls of Americans
really do need freeing. And the battle for gay rights is
helping. It’s good for the Democrats that they’ve
figured this out. More importantly, it's good for the
country.

--In the school library. My father is away at a conference
for a distant summer in Germany. He will be the hardest
to tell, I reason, for the missed linguistic cues, the
generational gap as precarious as a lion's hinging jaw,
or, rather, because he just doesn't get it. It's a safe
bet. I write him a 10-page email, glancing at the other
computer carrels. Due to competing time zones, I receive
his response the next morning: "Surprised, but not
shocked. Love, Dad."

--In a vestibular instant messenger window, to the girl
who will become my first girlfriend. We will break up
eight months later, over a girl from Connecticut whom
she meets in an online forum. Like other lesbians I
know, we remain close friends to this day.

--On the front porch of my mother's house, coiled on a
swing. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. In the spirit
of the high holidays, in the spirit of atonement, I
confess my predilections to her. These things weren't
supposed to happen to her, she says. This isn't what she
envisioned for me. "You're not gay." She repeats it
until the words are kite tassels fluting upwards beyond
our heads.

--Sitting at my desk in Dr. F's AP European History
course. My friend E is sick of my whining. "You need to
get laid" is the underlying sentiment of her diagnosis.
The solution becomes a coming-out party. There will be
wine, pilfered from the cabinets of a St. Patrick's Day
house party, where D snowboarded down the stairs and I
accidentally broke a futon bed, and where it turned out
that the host was actually the house sitter and got sent
to a juvenile detention center the next morning, after
she was discovered cradling a jar of peanut butter
amidst broken bottles. So wine from that party, and a
chocolate fondue fountain. E turns to a classmate of
ours, asks if she knows that I'm gay. The classmate is
baffled. "We're having a party," says E, "and you're on
the guest list." By the end of the day, we have the
venue at H's dad's house (he'll be out of town) but
in the end the party does not occur, and now everyone
knows.

--At my mother's book club. People talk.

--On the back couch in Harrison's Cafe, after hours in the
vacant, locked-up shop. I reassure her that it's not an
experiment. Afterwards, we cruise around in her father's
pickup, drinking beers named after rocks and ice with a
tannic aftertaste. I come home to find that I have
missed a loop in my refastened belt.

--In my first college classroom. I fill up my schedule
with prerequisites. In my public speaking course we are
asked to bring in three objects and identify what they
mean to us. The only rainbow article of clothing I own
is striped underwear. In retrospect, I wonder how many
times the professor had witnessed similar antics.

--On my ex-girlfriend's graduation day. Her mother knew
that her daughter would bring her boyfriend, the one
that her sisters always mentioned, that person with the
apartment in Allston. If her daughter was seeing someone
so often (as her daughter had never done) then it
had to be serious.

--On the pavilion by the Boston Harbor,
we meet for the first time. I'm the best friend she's
never heard of. During the celebratory luncheon in
Cambridge, she sneaks looks, furtive and observatory, as
I push my tuna niçoise around with a fork. So, this is
it.

--On Franklin Avenue, holding hands. We are lucky. The
previous Fourth of July in Boston, my then-girlfriend
and I had our arms around each other while a man with a
shaved head made catcalls. I told him to be quiet: "Shut
your mouth." It was only after she had me in her arms
again, pulling me away, that I realized I had punched
someone for the first time.

--In the police precinct. I sit with the officer to file a
report as the victim of (as the officer decides) lewd conduct. The man in my apartment building came
toward me, pants down, but intent can only go so far. My
then-girlfriend is next to me as the officer asks me
about discernible scars, piercings, tattoos. The officer
has seen our apartment bedroom, our connubial bed with
the crumpled blue duvet. Still, he calls her my
roommate.

“No longer will politicians (or anyone) be able to
credibly claim to be supportive of gays, and to love and
honor their supposed gay friends and family, while still
being opposed to basic and fundamental rights like
marriage.”

The re-election of Barack Obama, as well as the wins in
states wherever gay marriage was on ballot (in Maine,
Minnesota, Maryland and Washington) is a massive
watershed for LGBTQ rights. No longer will politicians
(or anyone) be able to credibly claim to be
supportive of gays, and to love and honor their supposed
gay friends and family, while still being opposed to
basic and fundamental rights like marriage. The very ads
pushed by the enemies of gay rights, like the mastermind
behind the antigay ballot measures, Frank Schubert,
which claim you can support gay equality but be against
gay marriage, no longer hold water.

From now
on, you're no friend to gays if you don't support full
equality, and you're a bigot if you try to defend that
position, as Mitt Romney did. Many people previously hid
behind the idea that since the president, prior to May
of this year, didn't support marriage equality, but
could still be considered "pro-gay," they could be
considered pro-gay too.

But
President Obama not only evolved; he set a new standard:
being pro-gay means supporting full equality. This is a
president who ended "don't ask, don't tell," signed a
gay-inclusive hate crimes law, urged voters in the
states to vote for marriage equality and wrote a letter
to a 10-year-old last week offering her support against
bullies who might stigmatize her for having two dads.
He's a president whose administration helped transgender
Americans get full protections in employment under
existing laws banning discrimination based on gender and
made sure his health care law fosters full access and
equality for gay and transgender people. And he was
re-elected. That re-election happened, make no mistake,
because the president energized his based, including
LGBTQ activists who pushed him hard and made it clear
that they wouldn't be energized if he didn't stop
dancing with the right and stood up for full equality.
He learned how that could work for him, and his
re-election proves that it can done. No longer will
there be an excuse for politicians who claim to be
pro-gay but who drag their feet for fear of
repercussions.

The wins
on marriage in Maine, Maryland, Minnesota and probably
Washington (votes are still being counted but activists
are almost certain they won) are groundbreaking, and
it's only the beginning. The tide has turned after
losses on marriage at the ballot in over 30 states. It's
a direct result of the shift in public opinion and the
president both capitalized on that and helped change
public opinion further. The enemies of gay equality are
now on the run.

Those
enemies, however, still have a hold on the Republican
Party, and the GOP will have to reckon with that.
Certainly it will be front and center in the GOP's own
coming civil war over the fallout of this election. The
Human Rights Campaign rightly said in a press release
that last night's victories, which included the election
of Wisconsin's Tammy Baldwin, the first openly gay or
lesbian person to win a U.S. Senate seat, and other
pro-equality big wins, were a landslide for LGBTQ
rights. Opponents of LGBTQ rights were stomped, and the
pressure will be on the GOP to oust them for good. As
the Rick Santorum wing claims the 2012 losses mean the
party needs to double down on cultural issues like gay
marriage, there will hopefully be those who make the
correct point that, in fact, the party needs to drop
gay-bashing and move into 21st century if it wants to
survive.

I'm hearing both gay and straight people say that the
long string of losses we've faced at the polls around
marriage equality are really our own fault. Our
community pushed too hard and too fast, they argue. The
prominent theme being generated is that we have failed
to "educate" the public about who we really are and get
beyond the stereotypes of leather people, butch dykes,
circuit boys and drag queens. And that it is now our
obligation to reintroduce ourselves to the American
people. I also repeatedly hear that it's up to us to
reframe the terms of the debate away from "moral values"
to simpler concepts, such as fairness, which polls
indicate resonate most with the public.

I disagree. This is nothing more than the
blame-the-victim mentality afflicting our nation
generally and the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender,
and queer (LGBTQ) movement specifically. Rather than
reframing the debate away from moral values, we must
embrace them. Or more precisely, the utter immorality of
the escalating attacks against LGBTQ people. And,
equally, the utter immorality in the failure of so many
people of good will to stand with us. It is time for us
to seize the moral high ground and state unambiguously
that anti-gay discrimination in any form is immoral.

Webster's defines discrimination as "unfair treatment of
a person or group on the basis of prejudice." By any
measure, LGBTQ people are targets of discrimination in
employment, housing, and public accommodations. FBI
statistics show that more people are being murdered
because of their sexual orientation than for any other
bias reason. Our young people are still routinely
bullied in schools. The examples of injustices in the
area of partner and family recognition are too many to
list. No thinking or feeling person can deny these
realities, which, as always, fall hardest on LGBTQ
people of color and those who are poor.

But, alarmingly, rather than seeing a groundswell of
support for measures to combat these injustices, the
opposite is occurring. In Congress and in statehouses
nationwide, it's rhetorical and legislative open season
on LGBTQ people. For example, over the last nine months,
anti-marriage state constitutional amendments were put
on the ballot in 14 states, 10 of which also prohibit
the recognition of any form of relationship between
people of the same gender. It's likely another 12 states
will have similar measures on the ballot within 3 years.
Nothing like this has happened since the Constitution
was ratified in 1791 – essentially a national referendum
inviting the public to vote to deprive a small minority
of Americans of rights the majority takes for granted
and sees as fundamental.

And who's been there to fight these amendments?
Basically us, the very minority under attack. Mainstream
media and churches are largely silent to our opponents'
lies. Most progressive organizations and political
campaigns, meanwhile, steer clear. There have been
sterling exceptions, but they have been few and far
between.

Many people who see themselves as supporters of equal
rights for all tolerate this because they believe
prejudice on the basis of sexual orientation is
profoundly different than that based on race or religion
(that it comes from an understandable disapproval of
our behavior) not on some "immutable characteristic."
Homosexual behavior, they feel, is "unnatural" (doesn't
the Bible say so?). Pundits say there is an "ick" factor, that the thought of gay sex revolts non-gay people,
and that this seemingly innate reaction is proof there
is something wrong with homosexuality.

This rationale is hardly unique to gay people. Scholars
point to comparable "ick" sentiments about Irish
immigrants in the 1880s, and describe how in preceding
generations sexual ideology was used to strengthen
control over slaves and to justify the taking of Native
American lands, and that for centuries Jews were
associated with disease and urban degeneration. Fact is,
there is no justification for anti-gay prejudice; the
"justifications" for it are as unfounded as those used
to support the second-class treatment of other
minorities in past generations. So, what needs to be
done?

First, everyone must realize that when straight people
say gay people should not have the freedom to marry,
they are saying we are not as good or deserving as they
are. It's that simple, no matter how one attempts to
sugarcoat it. This is unacceptable. And it is immoral.

Second, while we should talk to straight people honestly
about our lives, we must flatly reject the notion that
we are somehow to blame for all of this because we have
not effectively communicated our "stories" to others.
Fundamentally, it is not our job to prove to others that
we can be good neighbors, good parents, and that gee
whiz, we're actually people too.

Third, equality will remain elusive if we keep relying
on intellectualized arguments or by dryly cataloguing,
for example, each of the 1,138 federal rights and
responsibilities we are forced to forgo due to marriage
inequality.

The other side goes for the gut; it's now our turn. In
this vein, we must put others on the spot to stand up
and fight for us. As the cascade of lies pours forth
from the Anti-Gay Industry, morality demands that
non-gay people speak out with the same vehemence as they
would if it was another minority under attack. Ministers
and rabbis must be challenged with the question, "Where
is your voice?" Elected officials who meet with and
attend events of the Anti-Gay Industry, must be met with
the challenge, "How can you do that!? How is that public
service?"

The orchestrated campaign to deny us jobs, family
recognition, children, and housing is immoral. Silently
bearing witness to this discrimination is immoral.
America is in the midst of another ugly chapter in its
struggle with the forces of bigotry. People of good will
can either rise up to speak for lesbian, gay bisexual
and transgender Americans, or look back upon themselves
20 years from now with deserved shame.